Highgarden Marriage Bureau
by Isola Caramella
Summary: Lord Jaime Lannister needs a lady wife, the Highgarden Marriage Bureau is the best in the business.
1. chapter 1

Lord Jaime Lannister half listened to his secretary read Olenna's response to his acceptance of the Tarth girl. Even as she wrote about the shortcomings of his betrothed, Olenna's protectiveness of the girl was clear enough. Jaime cared not that she was too tall or unused to the simpering courtesies of the King's Landing high born who suckled on power and falsehoods. She was young and by all accounts strong, he needed heirs and a lady wife to manage Casterly Rock, no more and no less. He'd had enough beauty to last a dozen lifetimes.

He dictated his response to Peck and crudely signed two bank drafts to Olenna, one as final payment for procuring his intended wife discreetly and another to secure her passage from Tarth to Highgarden where the charade of their courtship would begin. He'd firmly eschewed the dowry being offered for her hand, having no use for it and he doubted Lord Selwyn's munificence had much to do with the stability of his purse. Like as not it was to bribe some poor sot into requesting his uncomely daughter's hand.

Peck spent the rest of their afternoon going over farm production and reports from Lannisport's dock. There were repairs the dock master demanded be done posthaste to accommodate the growing number of ships coming from Essos and Jaime still had to find a man for the Lannister Bank in King's Landing. He'd been loath to have Tyrion as far away as Crakehall for his studies and doubted he'd be any keener to send him to King's Landing. No, he'd return to King's Landing once he'd seen fit to deposit his new bride as the new lady of Casterly Rock. Baelish had been succor to Lady Lysa Arryn and would soon be Lord of the Vale, the upstart had no more use for the Lannisters or controlling their money.

Baelish had been the least of his worries in the capital, his sister's divorce from Lord Baratheon set every tongue from King's Landing to Winterfell wagging. Caught in flagrante delicto with two lowly soldiers taking refuge from the war in Slaver's Bay as their wounds healed. Another charge of adultery had been lobbied against her by their own cousin Lancel and the House of Lords had dragged the trial on for a week to get out of every filthy detail. Papers couldn't stay on the stands long enough to sate noble or commoner alike. Her decided tumble from grace a bond that brought all together. He'd shown up with a blank visage and deposited her and the children in an estate outside of King's Landing and turned his back on the whole business. She'd seethed that Robert had bastards twenty deep in Flea Bottom alone and expected Jaime to come to her aid. Had he not been sure that at least the daughter was his he'd have let fate run its natural course for his sweet sister.

The pain in his severed right hand clapped him like a blast of fire, Peck stood up immediately to get a small dose of milk of the poppy and water. The boy was efficient by half and Jaime had come to depend on him almost entirely. Peck was the closest thing he'd had to a son and he'd blossomed under Jaime's tutelage.

"Send these to Highgarden today with the courier and book passage on the next train out Peck, I'll be glad to put King's Landing behind us as swiftly as possible." Jaime said through clenched teeth as the pain went off in waves. The filthy air and muck of the city did little for his mood or health. In truth the blind rage he felt at his sisters infidelity pained him more than the missing hand. His years of loyalty and fidelity a fat feast for crows.

He waited patiently for the draught of the milk of the poppy to work through his system and quell the pain, concentrating on a space above the portrait of his father. Had he not died from a fit of apoplexy prior to the recent shame brought upon their great name, this would have pitched him into the ground at a rate of knots. It was everything he had worked hard to repair after his father had lowered the standing of House Lannister, now Jaime begrudgingly had taken over as Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, his crime the earliest shame on their great house. Now men came crawling on their bellies to curry favor even as they cursed him behind his back. He was the supposed sister fucker, the king slayer and now a handless, aged lion. Were it not for his gold mines and the hold Lannisters had on banking, he would be a diminished lord of a laughingstock house slated for ruin. He would succeed for no other reason than to prove them all false.

Strong sons had been his father's preferred currency, young men with might who could win wars, be it on the battlefield or on the house floor. Jaime had been his sword hand whilst Tyrion's cunning had served equally. By all accounts his bride was an ox of a woman, as tall as he and not as fair of face, but he needed strength and a woman sired from the lineage of Duncan the Tall was precisely what he required. As the sweet relief washed through him he could only think of his father's sneer that reasonably passed as a smile being bestowed on him.

Jaime felt his pain ebb and heart rate slow as he drifted into a brief respite from his jumbled, poppy addled thoughts. He'd make his way to Highgarden and then back to the Rock, sending for Tyrion to join him. Should the gods prove fortuitous his heir would be well planted by the first moon after his wedding. Cersei had been the only woman for him but he knew he could woo any woman from base to noble with a word and a smile.


	2. Chapter 2

Lady Brienne Tarth sat in the Tyrell carriage next to Margaery as they made their way from the train station to Highgarden, she'd met the beautiful woman at her wedding to Renly and had swallowed bile as she watched the two wed. She pressed one long finger into the palm of her hand to keep her petty and errant thoughts firmly checked. Margaery had been the picture of decorum and warmth towards Brienne after the wedding, taking to writing her frequently as though they were truly friends. It would not do to be small and spiteful after being invited to spend a little of the season off of Tarth at Margaery's request.

When the offer had come she'd told her father no, knowing they could ill afford the expense of the passage on first ship and then train. Her father's lady wife had rebuffed her and said of course Brienne must go, she'd never find a husband of her own on Tarth and look, the lovely Lady Baratheon had already secured her passage. It would be the height of poor manners to refuse such a boon. The woman was as clear as glass to Brienne, you've no place here any longer. The wife was of an age where children were still an option, sons to replace her husband's drowned heir, there was no need for a daughter who should be well settled as some oaf's bride.

Brienne's betrothal had ended after Lord Caron had sent notice to her father that his son had perished in the war. She'd spent the requisite year mourning a man she scarcely knew and had only had the misfortune of seeing once the year before her brother had been lost to the Narrow Sea.

Now she sat next to what amounted to her chaperone for the summer, loathe to wonder what horrid plans had already been made. Brienne preferred the quiet of Tarth, where the questioning of her sex, the dismay at her height and the incessant japes all coalesced into a single dull roar. She had refused to go to King's Landing to be presented to court after the disaster of her coming out ball. Only one good thing had come from seventeen years of being miserable in her body and that had been the kindness of Renly Baratheon as he danced with her until the musician left, escorting her as though she were a welcomed addition on his arm. A small ember had turned into a sea of wildfire until the invitation for his wedding had shown up at Evenfall, the absurd hope that he would ask for her hand scattered to the beautiful sapphire waters as she swum until her lungs burned.

Margaery had written to her often of the decadent soirées hosted at her grandmothers estate, replete with vivid descriptions of various eligible lords and merchants. Brienne wondered if the girl had some risible plot to amuse herself watching Brienne the Beauty mingling with men who would as soon put her to work as wed her. The knots in her stomach refused to abate and Brienne held herself stiffly up, smoothing one gloved hand over her skirt. She wished for her diary then, her only true companion. She'd written a thousand stories and dashed each one into fire, no one wanted a woman of intellect her septa had beaten into her head a dozen times. Husbands wanted quiet, docile wives who gave them heirs and sat silently. Silence had been her companion too, an empty estate with ghosts roaming the halls where her family had once been.

"Ren will be ever so delighted to see you. He speaks of you in almost reverence, it sets Loras's teeth on edge honestly. No one can be that bloody noble or trustworthy," she mimicked with mirth filled eyes, slipping her arm into Brienne's. "We'll have to show him what's what. Grandmother is hosting a dinner tomorrow for her guest, a small thing, only family. Have you met Lord Lannister? Devilishly handsome and extremely sought after, Megga is in fits that she has to be presented at court this year."

"Isn't he..."

"Yes, he is, but with a face only the gods could create. He'd be a perfect husband, gone to King's Landing for business often, leaving his lady wife to do as she pleases. If only I'd waited a time longer." Margaery's wistfulness seemed contrived but Brienne said nothing in response. There were no perfect husbands, not for her.

The carriage pulled up along the immaculate rose lined path to the waiting footman who assisted first Margaery and then Brienne down the steps. Her grey skirt showed the strains of travel and she was in need of a decent meeting with a bath. The train stations had little more than a small plain basin for hands and faces, sweat had pooled and attached to her skin in salted blocks after so many days of travel. Highgarden took Brienne's breath away, even in the waning light the splendor of the estate could not be denied. There would be much for her to write about after her time with the Tyrells, already envisioning an Andal invasion over the white stone walls as knights of the Reach fought valiantly to defend the old keep. Such stories were meant to be written by learned men who had the experience of war she'd been told often enough, Goodwin still told her the old stories and taught her every scrap of history he knew once septa Roelle had refused to tutor her in anything but the acceptable subjects for high born daughters. His death had been a blow worse than her mothers, he'd believed in and nurtured her love of books beyond sewing, bringing her great volumes of history from the mainland at every chance.

Highgarden would be her temporary escape from her now noxious home life, no disapproving gazes, no discomfiture at being yet married and shoved off to please the lady of Evenfall. No, here she could write and lose herself entirely.


	3. Chapter 3

The old girl was shrewd, he'd begrudgingly give her that.

"Is this how you amuse yourself now that Mace is lord?"

"My dear boy no, that's what Vortimer is here for."

Jaime blanched at the image of Olenna Tyrell in the throes of passion, it was enough to put him off his tea and food for the remainder of his time in her home. He swallowed the bit of revulsion working its way up his throat and looked at the briar maze outside her study window.

"Brienne is a special case; her mother was dear to me and I shall not have her settled unhappily. If she has any objection to you I shall start over and find someone else for you. One of my roses is currently set to bloom and is more malleable."

Jaime inadvertently made a snort of disgust, malleable and ready to adopt the Lannister cloak for Tyrell gain more like. He'd glimpsed the girl this morning as she spirited away to the Mander, long legs encased in men's trousers and high boots, curiosity made him follow from the stables and he watched her as she divested herself of clothing. She stepped into a pool at the top of the river and swam for the better part of the hour, climbing out only after her face was red with exertion and her small clothes were plastered to her skin. She moved with grace and power in the water, much as he had done before losing his hand.

The arrangement should have been much simpler but he trusted Olenna with this completely, any number of lords quietly sung her praises in acquiring just the wife that suited them best, whether they seeked love, power, or wealth to add to a title. Merchants with new money who desperately needed to cleanse the stink off or high borns who needed to move up from their minor holdings. He would go along with her for now.

He stood up to escort her to her dinner party which had, he was certain, at least thirty people. Jaime was quite sure he would not be able to find three people who he could comfortably dine with and Peck had buried himself into one of the maids from the first week, disappearing unless summoned for work. Olenna's small hand tucked into his elbow and she led him down the gold and cream hallway, portraits of long dead Tyrells watching them make their journey. The noise from the dining room leaked through the doors, greeting them before they could be announced. He bowed to Olenna and kissed her hand resoundingly drawing a laugh and blush from his host before finding his seat next to one of the younger Tyrell cousins.

Renly was seated across from him and he bent his head in acknowledgment as Margaery walked in with a more appropriately dressed Brienne. A simple blue skirt with flowers, always flowers, along the hem paired with a well cut dinner jacket made to suit the long limbs and strong shoulders.

"Enny?" Renly choked as he pushed his chair back, rushing to greet the now blushing late arrival. "What are you doing here?"

Jaime watched him envelope her in a warm embrace, kissing her cheeks and hands profusely. Eyes wet with tears. He felt the urge to push the little milksop out of one of the many windows. The histrionics more suited for his lady wife who stood aside beaming at her distasteful husband.

"Was this why you've been disappearing wife? What a delightful gift you've brought to me."

The rest of the evening was spent listening to the cacophony of Tyrells, and quietly observing the strapping girl stare into her plate and gaze longingly at the door. She would do.

Singular blue eyes glared at him the next morning as he sat at the lip of the river after managing a brief satisfactory swim. "Good morning my lady."

Grim resignation forced her gaping mouth closed. The violent red of her skin had cooled to an uneven staining of pink. She was the ugliest woman, a girl really, Jaime had laid eyes on and the current dreadful glower did little to help her.

"My lord."

"Join me for a swim?"

"No thank you my lord, pardon the intrusion."

He stood to his full height and watched the violent red snake its way back to her face, eyes looking beyond him to a peach grove down river. They were of height, her edging him out by an inch, Jaime took in her thick neck and plump lips, the broken nose and the scores of freckles. He bade her to stay with him, donning his morning attire as she turned her back to let him dress.

They sat unchaperoned in the copse formed by the wild fireplum trees, the more he flattered the stonier her face became. He dropped the artifice when she bristled at an ill timed jest and called him kingslayer. His verbal assaults thereafter did little to disquiet her, she seemed to welcome them more readily than any of the sweet words he'd peppered her with. Finally asking what he wanted of her when he'd quieted from his tirade, demanding the truth with her mouth set in a weary line.

"I need a wife and heirs."

"And you want that of me?" Her unnerving eyes settled on his face fully, "I am a grotesque representation of my sex, lest you forget your words my lord."

"Yes, but you are a woman?" The scowl came and went in rapid succession as her large hands rested on one muscled thigh. "I need legitimate heirs my lady, once I have those you are free to do whatever it is you want. Stay in Casterly Rock, go back to Tarth."

"My place is no longer on Tarth, my father's lady wife has seen to that."

The marriage contract was drawn the day after Lord Selwyn arrived, with a special provision after the dowry was written out. He waited another week for the Lannisters to descend upon Highgarden to start the wedding festivities. He was certain Tyrion and Margaery had disappeared into the cellar for more than wine the night before the wedding, hooded, sated eyes met his as his dear brother sat beside him. Brienne had shown little interest in him, the wedding or their pending marriage after they had agreed to their own personal terms. There was no giddiness or nerves as they stood in the sept or as they sat to eat the feast prepared. Course after course sat untouched and Jaime wondered if she held nerves after all. One goblet of water touched her lips all night until they were forced out of the ballroom and sent to consummate their marriage.


	4. Chapter 4

"...get Lord Jaime NOW..."

"...why is there so much blood..."

"...she needs something for the pain sir..."

"Brienne, Brienne, it's Tyrion, it's just me, sssh, just a small drink..."

"...we need a wet nurse my lord, the babe needs to..."

"...Uncle Jaime you must change, she cannot see you like this..."

"...Tyrion I have one bloody hand, how do you propose I pin her nappy?..."

"Oh Cerenna look, there she is now."

Brienne's head felt too full and her husband's voice sounded too loud. A low groan made her flinch even as it left her parched throat. The room was thankfully dark and only two candles burned on the mantle over the fireplace, Lord Jaime's fireplace she realized and not her lady's quarters. They had moved her after, her recollection was a blur of the first pain and holding the girl child, realizing it was indeed a girl. Voices and hands the only tangible things she could recollect. The full ache in her stomach made itself known as she tried to move, a strong arm pushed her back against the pillows.

"None of that just yet my lady. You, my sweet girl, must go in your cradle, no crying or uncle Tyrion will come back."

At the sound of the baby's mewling, a wetness spread across her shift causing the garment to stick to her uncomfortably. She started feeling the dampness between her legs then and the faint stench of blood clung to her. Lord Jaime looked only modestly better than she felt, purple bruising under his tired green eyes. His valet had not seen to his face in days if the stubble currently marring his usually clean face were an indication. Brienne closed her eyes and tried to think but gave in to the deep pull to sleep again, her body felt as bruised as when she'd collided with a rock jumping from the waterfall back on Tarth.

"Is she well uncle?"

"Well enough, tell cook to boil water for the tub. Then fetch a clean gown from her rooms."

Strong arms lifted her to a sitting position and Brienne opened her eyes against bright morning light, closing them quickly and burying her face in Lord Jaime's neck without thought. He smelled of powder and curdled milk.

"Easy. Bring your legs round."

Warm water, Castile soap and a clean dressing gown helped to welcome her back. The yellowing bruises on her stomach startling her as much as Lord Jaime washing her from head to toe with no maids, not permitting anyone in the bathing rooms once he had all the necessary accoutrements. His hair had no pomade and the waves now turned to curling around his ears, the stubble more filled in than she remembered when she had awakened last. Fresh sheets replaced the old ones on the bed and the staff had aired out the room in swift order, opening up the heavier drapes and leaving the curtains closed. Lord Jaime left her to eat a heavy beef stew with his niece as he let his valet get him ready for the day.

He walked back in with only a clean shirt and his trousers, face still unkempt and only the more comely for it. He held the babe cradled in his right arm as he settled in beside her, positioning the small bundle on his thighs. They had not been so close since she was certain she was with child.

"Lady Cerenna Lannister meet your mother, Lady Brienne Lannister."

Green eyes looked up her inquiringly as Brienne took in her daughter's pale skin and pale lashes. "What happened?"

"There was hemorrhaging," a shadow crossed his features as he looked upon the babe, running a long finger down her nose before looking at Brienne again, "the midwife knew what to. The doctor says he would have done much the same. You need rest and nourishment to gain strength again. Lady Cerenna is very demanding when it's time to eat, her lungs are very strong for one so small."

They had never had occasion to share a room and Brienne found it unsettling to do so once she felt her strength returning. Night after night Lord Jaime would collect the babe from Myrcella, whom he'd brought from King's Landing to act as a helper of sorts, and carry her off to his rooms. He refused to let her sleep more than an arm's length away from him during night hours, forcing Brienne to share his bed. If her traitorous, wanton body would not react so strongly to his nearness she could rest well enough but found her sleep vexed each night. She had not expected his gentleness or kindness on their wedding night, or on the nights after. Weeks traveling the Ocean Road with his cousin Daven, and a host of other Lannisters that stayed at Casterly or in Lannisport.

That kindness was not in their contract and neither was the mounting desire she felt towards her husband. He had only sought her bed twice since she retreated to her rooms after she had quickened, the night before leaving for King's Landing to fetch Myrcella and upon his return when she had been of the mind that her protruding belly would put abeyance on such needs. Lord Jaime had no compunction in climbing into her bed and guiding her onto her knees, like a common dog, and taking his husbandly due. She had summoned every ounce of her mettle to silence her wanton gasps, only faltering at the very end when his stump settled on her hip and his left hand started their devilish ministrations on her sex. Warm air on her neck startled her from her thoughts, heat colored her face at being so thoroughly caught out.

"Wife, the babe should be the one rousing me from sleep."

"She sleeps well." Brienne responded witlessly, the press of her lord husband's bare chest against her back exacerbating her want of him.

"She has slept properly for well on two months now, your sleep however has degenerated into fits. Are you still feeling any pain? That should be done with now."

"The pain has not bothered me in some weeks."

"I'll send for the midwife tomorrow, just to be sure. You should be able to sleep comfortably. Daven is getting married in a fortnight and then coming back to Lannisport. One of Olenna's granddaughters, the freckled Redwyne girl. He wants to invest in the rail, the Westerlands and the Riverlands, more tracks and more stations." He rambled sleepily into her neck, his stump circling her middle as he settled for sleep once more.

"That is a sensible endeavor for him." Brienne held no poor opinion of Daven, he was frank but convivial and cared little for personal grooming. He was also slightly taller and enjoyed picking her up to spin her about when in his cups. He made Casterly Rock less dreary when in company with Tyrion.

"Stafford is pleased he has found any endeavor that doesn't include bedding anything that moves. How much would it displease you if we left the Rock and moved into one of the estates in Lannisport? I'd rather have Cerenna somewhere less gloomy."

It didn't displease her in the slightest, there were too many people at any one moment, that came and went in the vastness that was their home. Her writing had faltered being away from the quiet of Evenfall where no one had need of her. Lord Jaime had taken to having her read his correspondence in the evenings or writing his answers to the copious tenant complaints, dock work or other Lannister business. He had praised her capability only after goading her with sharp remarks or japes. No, Lannisport could not displease her, it would be a chance to cage her heart firmly back in her chest and stop whatever foolish notion was taking root.


	5. Chapter5

Jaime lay awake covering his face with his stump, trying not to strangle his aurochs of a wife. She would find comfort in one position for a moment and then make a frustrated noise in the back of her throat before shifting again. He was tempted to steal away to the library and sleep there if for only a moments peace. Cerenna had taken to sleeping with Myrcella once the enterprising babe figured out how her legs worked, climbing out of the cradle and dashing off for sport. He'd moved Myrcella into what had rightfully been Brienne's bedchamber so his daughters would only be down the hall, curled around each other like the cats he'd been forced to adopt. Had he been able to foretell the future, he would have kept the rooms for Brienne to ensure one night of uninterrupted sleep.

When Brienne stifled a sniffle he thought again of Wylla's assurances that his wife was not in any pain and was fully healed. Wylla was the most experienced midwife in the Westerlands, and he did not doubt her, but something troubled his wife greatly. Each morning she woke paler than the one before and looked ready to jump through her own skin at the mere hint of provocation. Her apprehensiveness was enough to deal with when she secreted herself away from everyone daily, emerging only when propriety demanded it of her.

"Wife," he started sharply, taking a breath to calm himself, "is anything the matter?"

"Lord Jaime..." she responded with a low moan that sent his cock into rigid attention.

"I think Jaime suffices well enough. Can you please tell me what is troubling you so that we may sleep?" He thought of every unpleasant thing that he could muster to ease the ache his wife's voice had started damning the day he agreed to limiting their union to the creation of heirs. The persistent rage at Cersei had clouded his judgment, and he was not a man to keep a mistress or frequent whores like Daven or Tyrion.

"No." She whispered into the air between them.

"No you cannot or no you will not?"

"I cannot." She said petulantly, reminding him of how recalcitrant Cerenna could be when he dressed her now that she could move about.

"Well, am I able to presume you are otherwise of sound mind and free of pain? Or should I request a carriage to Qyburn?" He rolled onto his side to find her on her back, arms crossed against her stomach in a protective manner. Jaime shook his head in exasperation, briefly giving thought to putting Brienne across his lap for her petulance like any lord husband was allowed to do but the image of his hand striking the firm flesh of her bottom sent a jolt down his spine. He forced his mind to go back to a steadier train of thought, the blood rushing to his lower body making it a difficult task.

"I am perfectly sane." She scoffed at him.

He gave an inelegant snort at her assertion as he moved his body to settle over her, taking in the look of guilt before she turned her gaze away. The feel of her hips lifting up to meet his made him take an appraising look at her flushed face in the moonlight.

"Tell me."

A dozen thoughts crossed her face, each one weighed and discarded before he saw her settle with a response. Her tongue darted out to swipe her bottom lip and Jaime followed it intently, wishing to join it.

"I had not expected to share a bed with you, with anyone." Brienne murmured softly, her eyes making his chest catch with a feeling he couldn't place.

"Sharing a bed with me is what troubles you?"

"Yes, no...I...we have a contract. I would not go against it."

The flush came back then, moonlight making her pale hair almost white. Jaime studied her rapid breathing and the subtle writhing of her hips wondering for the first time if Brienne wanted to make full use of the more pleasurable aspects of marriage too. He was sure she held a measure of regard for him and the prospect of her wanting to warm his bed heated his blood.

Jaime brushed his mouth along her jaw, relishing the startled gasp that fell from her lips. He turned his attention to the strong column of her neck, trailing featherlight kisses down both sides as her hips thrust up to meet his, the miles of her practical and dowdy sleeping gown hiding the parts of her Jaime wanted to touch the most. He stretched out his hand until his fingers could stroke the inside of her wrist, feeling the rapid beat of her pulse. He let her feel the full weight of him, grateful for once that she could bear his weight with ease.

"Do you wish to go against our contract?" Jaime teased against her collarbone, reaching down to pull her sleeping gown over her broad hips. It still amazed him that Brienne never flinched at the puckered flesh of his stump touching her, treating it as though it were normal. "Wife?"

Jaime ran the pad of his thumb against her folds, pressing lightly at the firm nub. The moan it provoked forced all thoughts of their contract away, his vision narrowed to his wife's face, the wide-eyed fear but also the clear alleviation. Each mild stroke of his fingers strangled her breathing, not experienced enough to complain about the lack of dexterity in his left hand. A dozen more firm strokes and he felt the warmth of her pleasure over his fingers. Her maddening efforts to silence her enjoyment made him feel mildly incensed. Months of sleepless nights and not even the decency to whimper.

"Better?" Jaime pulled back to sit on his knees, easing her shift high on her stomach, smiling at her bewildered expression. He ran his stump along the soft flesh of her inner thigh, the muscles tensing at the slightest graze. The wish for two hands coming back as she tried to discreetly push her gown down to cover herself, one-handed men couldn't easily tear dresses or sleeping gowns.

"Yes, thank you." He waited for her to weigh and measure the rest of what she wanted to say, her heart still beating fast enough for him to see the vein in her throat moving. "You are still without your heir."

Jaime smiled as he pushed his small clothes over his hips, his dutiful, honor-bound wife would never be so brazen as to ask in plain terms, but he knew her meaning fully.

She was still so tight when he thrust into the warmth of her, mind blanking momentarily as he reacquainted himself, wrapping her pale, moon-washed hair in his fist and pulling her into him to tease her mouth. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, tiny gasps escaping when he struck at just the right angle. Her wide, blown eyes were his undoing, and he only remembered to spill into the sheets at the last possible moment. Years of keeping Cersei from getting pregnant was his only aide in knowing what to do to not endanger Brienne. Both of their mothers had died in the birthing bed, and she had been so close to the same fate. Tempting the Stranger with another try seemed pointless. Selwyn had made Brienne his heir officially when Jaime refused the dowry, he would do the same for Cerenna.

She clung to him for a few desperate minutes but he felt her recede when the haze of their lovemaking wore off. Felt the loss of her long fingers from his shoulders as sure as he'd felt the loss of his hand. He pulled her shift back down, covering her against the cool air. Jaime waited until she was soundly asleep before holding her hand up to his mouth for a kiss.

He slept until his valet woke him late in the morning, breakfast long over and Brienne down on the beach for her morning swim. The estate in Lannisport suited them much better than the rock ever could, his wife should have been born a mermaid with her effortless grace in the water, the only place she managed to look fully at ease and as if she belonged. She had been able to teach Myrcella to swim and now Cerenna demanded to wade about, pumping her little feet ineffectively on the shore.

He watched from the balcony of his study while Peck recounted an issue with a farmer's daughter he'd have to address on Tyrion's behalf. His brother was brilliant with words, had the stomach for politics, but suffered from the same affliction as Jaime, finding the wrong women to give their hearts too. He stopped Peck to dictate a request to Olenna but then Brienne came out of the water, long legs wrapped in her ridiculous swim attire. When she bent down to pick up Cerenna his skin flushed at view, remembering the night he'd come back from King's Landing and she'd protested that her stomach would be in the way. Peck called his name a half dozen times before Jaime realized his secretary waited for the rest of the letter.


End file.
